


consolation prize

by iridescentprincess



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Roommates, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 18:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5595772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridescentprincess/pseuds/iridescentprincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first surprise Clarke wakes up to is a Scrabble letter poking her butt. The second surprise is the fact that she's in her roommate's bed.</p><p>Based on the tumblr prompt: We passed out on your bed after playing Scrabble last night, and our limbs are completely entangled, the blankets are on the floor and I don't think I ever want to leave</p>
            </blockquote>





	consolation prize

 

Clarke wakes up to something poking her butt.

It’s definitely _not_ an erection, based on the fact that this object is particularly sharp and is digging into her skin almost painfully through her leggings. Fumbling around without opening her eyes, she reaches her hand behind her to figure out what the hell is making her wake up on a Sunday at God knows _what_ time一when suddenly she grasps a Scrabble letter. Blinking her eyes open, she realizes the thing that was trying to hurt her was the letter B. Worth three points. Go figure.

Why was there a Scrabble piece lying on her bed? And how did it get so hot in her room? It was fucking December in Boston, for crying out loud. She should be shivering under her old worn out blankets, wearing only leggings and a gray long-sleeve, but there aren’t even any blankets on her and she’s almost sweating.

Clarke then properly wakes up and becomes fully aware of her surroundings: navy blue blankets on the floor. Bedside table with a picture of Bellamy's little sister Octavia (which she teases Bellamy about every chance she gets) propped up in a frame next to the mug that she made for him in art class. Morning sunlight streaming through a window to her right when the window in her room is always to her left. A tan arm banding across her waist, emanating heat.

_Wait, what?_

Clarke freezes in the middle of her observations. She’s in Bellamy’s room, which is right next to hers in their two-bedroom apartment. That covers the where. But why and how?

Bellamy’s legs are completely entangled in hers. His chest rises and falls with each breath against her back. Picking her head up off of Bellamy’s outstretched arm, she sees the Scrabble board partially folded together at the foot of the bed, with Scrabble letter pieces littered on and around them. Clarke rubs her lips together, nodding her head as if confirming something in her head.

Only _they_ would fall asleep playing _Scrabble._

Clarke comes to the conclusion that Bellamy must have shifted in the night to spoon her. He must have been seeking warmth in the cold; surely he doesn’t want to cuddle with her except for the use of body heat. That’s the only reason Clarke can come up with in her block-all-feelings-toward-roommate brain. It’s not like they get along enough to be in this compromising position voluntarily.

Her heart, the traitor, beats faster anyway in response to the compromising position she’s in.

Well, Bellamy _is_ warm, and it’s probably only seven in the morning, so it wouldn’t hurt to stay in his arms for a _little_ bit longer. She thought her first instinct would be to run, but she’s too tired and oh so warm. She thinks she could sleep for another hour or two. Bellamy doesn’t wake up until noon on Sundays anyway. Clarke figures he’ll never know.  

Her plan goes to waste when Bellamy grumbles as Clarke shifts back down into his arms, breathing a little harder against her neck and stretching his legs against hers. Oh no. He’s waking up. He’s going to find himself cuddling her and slip away in disgust. Clarke shuts her eyes and evens her breaths out, feigning sleep.

Clarke feels him adjust his body, his fingers flexing against her hip, his bicep moving under her blonde head. _He’ll move away and that’s okay, Clarke, he just doesn’t feel like that about you, we’re better off as friends anyw一_

Bellamy shakes her out of her inner monologue when he moves his nose against her hair, traveling down to nuzzle the crevice between her neck and shoulder. He inhales deeply, as if he’s breathing in her scent, before tightening his arm around her waist. Every little touch is electrified, encouraging goosebumps to form on her skin. Clarke can’t breathe. And not because of the arm pressed tight against her waist (but that isn’t really helping things either).

He’s _awake,_ right? The nuzzling was a conscious decision on his part? He’s not moving away in disgust?

Bellamy sighs. “You think loudly, princess.”

Dammit, she’s caught. “Do I?”

“Yes, you do. If I could read your mind, I think I’d just find lots of panic. And thoughts to run out of the room.”

Clarke turns around in his arms, shaking her head. “You’re definitely wrong about that last part.” Bellamy’s eyes widen, and before he can come up with a reply, she says, “I was thinking about the Scrabble letter that was going up my ass.”

Bellamy chuckles, a deep and throaty sound that vibrates through her. This kind of contact should be illegal, her mind spinning in a daze as if coming down from a high. She just woke up, it’s seven in the fucking morning, and no one should be experiencing this much _emotion_ so early. “Pretty sure I won last night’s game. What did we say the winner gets again?”

“I don’t know,” Clarke says, furrowing her brow, “but didn’t _I_ win last night’s game?”

Bellamy scoffs. “No, I swear I won. I beat you with the word ‘zloty.’”

Clarke groans in frustration. “Bellamy, that was the other game of Scrabble like a month ago! I won fair and square last night with the word ‘brews.’”

Admitting defeat, Bellamy drops his head to rest against her shoulder. “Okay, princess, you’re right. You won. What’s your prize?”

They’re the type of roommates who are nerdy enough to play Scrabble once a month and are competitive enough to have prizes that the winner reaps. Last month, Bellamy did win with the word “zloty,” and made Clarke read his entire essay about warfare in history and make any corrections. It backfired on him when she read the whole thing and got his essay back with millions of red corrections, starting arguments that neither of them walked out of unscathed.

“Hmm, breakfast in bed. Pancakes. With strawberries.”

“Princess, we ran out of flour the other day. I’m gonna have to run to the store real quick,” Bellamy plans, already loosening his hold on Clarke, much to her surprising disappointment. Clarke is slowly connecting to her deeply rooted desire for him to hold her for the rest of the morning. She almost considers not making him cook her pancakes. Almost.

Bellamy stands up and stretches, his shirt riding up in a way that makes Clarke’s mouth almost fucking _water_ like she wants to devour him, before heading to his en suite bathroom, leaving the door open behind him. Clarke watches from his bed as he brushes his teeth, her mouth curving into a smile as he splashes water on his face, moving his stubborn, curly hair away.

He walks back into the room, staring at her for a couple seconds. Clarke can imagine what he’s seeing: her looking comfortable as can be lying between his sheets, messy hair framing her face, shirt hanging off her shoulder. She can’t deny the desire in his eyes, not anymore. They’ve been dancing around this for too long, their living arrangements not making it very easy to resist.

Clarke can see the hesitation on his face before Bellamy chooses to ask, “Do I get a consolation prize?”

She’s got a feeling she’ll give him this consolation prize, whatever it is, but she replies with, “Depends on what you want.” Then she sends him a sly smirk, letting him know she’s teasing him.

Bellamy leans over to cup her face with his hand, one knee holding his weight on the bed. “How about a kiss?” And then his lips cover hers, not waiting for an answer. Clarke’s arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer. He tastes like mint toothpaste, and she realizes that her breath probably doesn’t smell too amazing right now. Pulling away, she keeps her forehead connected to his. “That a good consolation prize?” Clarke murmurs.

He laughs against her mouth. “I’m making you my world famous pancakes, princess, but I’m pretty sure my prize is better.”

Clarke just grins before pecking his lips again, pushing him away and demanding he come back fast with flour or he won’t get another “consolation prize” from her later. She’s pretty sure she’d give it to him again anyways.  

**Author's Note:**

> hey! so that is the end of the first fanfic that i've ever written on here! if you liked this, please give kudos and/or comments. thanks for reading, until next time


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